


Such a Good Thing

by Redisaid



Series: All the Times You Prayed [3]
Category: World of Warcraft
Genre: F/F, Feels, Heavy Angst, Hurt No Comfort, Meanwhile Liadrin is just the goodest little egg, Smut, This is fucked up in a way that I don't know how to tag, Valeera please stop doing this shit to yourself, Violent Thoughts, hooooo BOY
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-29
Updated: 2020-08-29
Packaged: 2021-03-06 14:12:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,244
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26180191
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Redisaid/pseuds/Redisaid
Summary: Valeera has received some disturbing news about Alliance plans regarding Liadrin. She goes to warn her, but is feeling a little conflicted. Maybe very conflicted.
Relationships: Liadrin/Valeera Sanguinar
Series: All the Times You Prayed [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1318109
Comments: 20
Kudos: 65





	Such a Good Thing

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Dinoistrash](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dinoistrash/gifts).



> Sometimes you hear a song and have to make some really twisted Valadrin smut for it. I don't make the rules.
> 
> Anyway, nothing violent actually happens, but there sure are some intrusive thoughts. Please avoid this one if that would be too much for you. 
> 
> Take care of yourselves, as always <3\. Don't be like Valeera...

There was a missive in a hidden pocket of her discarded armor. A stark white piece of paper against a sea of crimson leather--possibly even more crumpled now that it all lay in a pile on the floor, than it had been in her trembling hand when she first received it.

The words had been simple and few. Such was Shaw’s way. 

“SI:7 has been tasked with eliminating Horde commanders. One Lady Liadrin is on the list. I take it you might have some objections.”

No course of action required of her. No recommendation either. Just information, pure and simple. A choice. One she was free to make. One she had already made, despite what she told herself. A note she had answered with crimson of her own.

Valeera had gone to Liadrin with the intent of warning her. Somehow, the words had been too hard to come by. She had settled instead for bruising kisses. For being wrapped in arms that had held a sword to the throat of many an Alliance soldier. To men and women who had fought and died for Anduin Wrynn and the things he stood for.

Valeera had said nothing as Liadrin laid claim to her with minimal questions of her own, as she had so many times before. She had only let out a choked gasp here and there. A plea for more. Maybe a “please” here and there. 

Valeera hadn’t even stopped to think as she rolled Liadrin onto her back and did the same for her, fingers tracing the cuts of muscle that was built from years upon years of near constant combat. Kissing along chafed skin where the straps of heavy armor dug in too tight. Soothing along scars as the paladin trembled beneath her.

She didn’t think about the letter until they lay still together in the darkness of Liadrin’s room in Dazar’alor. Until the only sound was their labored breathing--slowing and calming with each breath--echoing off of walls of stone and gold.

Typical. So typical of her. Valeera felt a twinge of disgust at herself, wishing she could truly have claimed to come here with no other intention of presenting that letter. It was hardly a letter, really. Just a scribble on scrap of paper. Not even coded. Shaw rarely bothered with her. He trusted her so.

Why, exactly, Valeera was uncertain. Especially considering the choice she had already made with this information. To spend her time thinking about it in the arms of an enemy. 

Because for all that she claimed of her own neutrality, Valeera wasn’t sure such claims were true. Her loyalty merely wavered from day to day. Hour to hour. She was a fickle, small thing.

Smaller now that she curled against Liadrin, naked and spent.

Liadrin, for her part, had no idea why she had come. But she didn’t care. She never did. She was just happy to have whatever fraction of Valeera she could. Valeera knew this because she’d said it directly. Many times. 

And despite the fact that it was overwhelming and absolutely terrifying, Valeera kept giving that fraction of herself away.

Liadrin’s hand was warm as it sifted through her hair, now a loose tangle of gold that blanketed them where the bedcovers they’d discarded did not. 

“What are you thinking about?” Liadrin asked as she smoothed a few stray tresses back over one of Valeera’s long ears. 

She knew. Well, not what Valeera was thinking about, of course. She simply knew that this was not normal. That she was used to receiving as much banter and diversion from Valeera’s sharp tongue as she was the physical pleasure it could give her. Liadrin was perceptive to a tee in a world of people who Valeera was invisible to, even when she wasn’t trying to blend in with the shadows. Another infuriating and frightening thing.

The answer was not one Valeera could give. 

_How easy it would be to kill you right now, but how hard it would be to watch you die._

So instead, she offered, “I’m just tired.”

“A tired woman doesn’t come looking for sex well after midnight,” Liadrin noted. 

There was a little chuckle in her voice. Cocksure and confident. She knew exactly why Valeera came to her time and time again. And not just because she could rattle the very core of her like no one else could. Not because she could have her clutching at the sheets with nothing more than a few honeyed words and well-placed kisses. Because she knew that Valeera would come back again for much the same. Because she knew that every time she did, it would be harder for her to stay away next time.

Because Liadrin was counting on that.

“Not that kind of tired,” Valeera told her. 

Liadrin hummed at that, hauling Valeera on top of her further, so that their chests were pressed together and she could rest her arms comfortably around her waist. A gesture Valeera would never allow anyone else. Too intimate. Too fond. Too forceful, but out of affection, not seeking control.

Because whether she warned her of the letter or not, Liadrin would let Valeera leave. She would make sure there were no guards in her way, or wards preventing her from using her hearthstone. 

A hearthstone that was still bound to Stormwind. Lest she forget.

Valeera felt a sudden need to explain herself. “I’m tired of this war. Tired of being a messenger for everyone’s lies.”

That’s what she was these days. All she was. Anduin would ask her, time and time again, to use that neutrality she so coveted but couldn’t stay true to. She would ferry requests for peace and parlay from side to side, from blue banners to red ones, only to see them clashing in battle again the next morning. Only to watch from the shadows as cities fell and people died. Only to stand back and witness. 

Valeera just wanted to close her eyes. She did so, then, pressing them against Liadrin’s neck. One of the few places on her where the skin was soft and mostly unscarred.

“We’re all tired of it, Valeera,” Liadrin said as one of her hands moved up to stroke along her back. “But that doesn’t mean we get to stop.”

They never talked about causes. About big things. Valeera didn’t know if Liadrin felt badly about the burning of Teldrassil. Liadrin never spoke about the loss of the Undercity. Those moments were echoes too close to the memory of Silvermoon. Of days where they hadn’t known one another, but had known a place and a time. A blissful childhood innocence and a devotion to the Light of the sun that would save them all, until it didn’t. Green eyes, once pure and untainted blue, then made gold--but one one pair of them. 

Valeera supposed that any child of Silvermoon had a similar moral dilemma, no matter if they stood beneath banners of red or blue. 

“I know,” she whispered against skin.

Liadrin kneaded her back. Muscles held tight with tension melted beneath those warm hands, turning to puddles beneath Valeera’s skin. She felt as she always did with Liadrin, like a puddle of molten gold, too hot and too languid to be made into any recognizable shape. 

Beneath her parted lips, Liadrin’s pulse thrummed strongly. Steadily. Her jugular vein was just within reach of Valeera’s fangs. She could kill her even with a bite. With her sharp teeth, a vestigial feature of the wilder, predatory origins of their kind. 

How would it be, to feel her iron blood pour into her mouth? To know that she could take a step toward ending this war, toward saving Alliance soldiers, by drowning herself in Liadrin’s life? Choking on it, thick and red and horrible.

Valeera didn’t want to think anymore. So she kissed that vein instead, keeping her teeth safely behind her lips, for now. 

Liadrin’s gold-melting hands moved downward, from where they were holding and soothing her back, to grasping at her hips with purpose. She understood. She knew. She always did.

“I don’t mind,” Liadrin whispered against her ear as she drew Valeera all the way on top of her. “I don’t mind if you come to me to forget those things. You can come to me whenever you’re tired of it all.”

Such sweet promises. Such lies. In the soothing deepness of her voice, they almost had a ring of truth to them. Valeera knew that Liadrin wanted them to be true. She wanted things to be that easy, that simple.

But she also felt like she was doing her a favor. Time and time again. That she was saving her, despite how many times Valeera told her she didn’t need saving.

Despite how Valeera could feel the other woman sating her hunger in more ways than one. In the way her fingers traced gently along the curve of her ass, following it down toward the apex of her thighs, and in the holy energy she could feel her own body leeching from her. It would take anything these days--fel, arcane, holy were labels that didn’t matter. Starving and desperate. Such was the constant state of one Valeera Sanguinar.

Valeera steadied herself in arms strong from holding her tight and from dealing death in the name of the Light and the Horde, things that should have contrasted, rather than combined. She leveraged herself so she could tug one of those arms beneath her instead, to give Liadrin more leverage. She sighed and shuddered as two fingers entered her, invited and wanted. Needed, even.

“I don’t want to,” Valeera breathed as she rocked against them. 

“Be tired anymore?” Liadrin asked.

Those fingers curved expertly within her, at just the right angle now. Liadrin was a marvel with her hands. They were so warm and strong and steady. Valeera hated it.

So she sank herself to the hilt on that hand and didn’t answer. Instead she ground against Liadrin’s palm. Palms that should be soft and praying, but were calloused and rough from war. But gods if it didn’t feel good against her.

Valeera sat up against her. Her own form was a thing molded by battle, scarred and sculpted all the same. She was lithe and sinewy where Liadrin was bulky and strong. Valeera coiled up as a column of lean muscle, like a snake. She sat up on Liadrin’s hips, trapping that hand between them as she sought more pressure. 

“You’re beautiful like this,” Liadrin told her.

Like this. Wild and wanting. Her hair free and flowing in the darkness, lit only by the glow of their eyes. A sickly yellow-green where it mixed on their bare skin. The color enough should have served as a warning.

But Valeera didn’t like to listen--to prophetic warning signs and advice alike.

Liadrin recovered herself in Valeera’s silence to start thrusting her hand again. If she could not get affection from her in return, then she would fuck it out of her. And Valeera would let her. She would always let her.

Even like this, it would be so easy to end her. So close. Valeera could name a thousand ways. She could grab her throat, choke her and let Liadrin test her strength against Valeera’s own, wrestling for her very life. She could make an excuse to get something from her things, then palm one of the many vials of poison she kept on her belt, and pour it down Liadrin’s throat before she had a chance to resist, much less react. 

Yet here she was, fucking her instead of killing her. Fucking her and thinking about killing her. Getting fucked by her, really. 

“Take it slow,” Liadrin bade her from below. “I want to watch you a little longer.”

Valeera hadn’t realized how close she was already. Her thighs were shaking against Liadrin’s sides. 

This was fucked up. She was fucked up. This whole world was fucked up. And she couldn’t fix it. Liadrin couldn’t fix it, even though she promised the world every night they spent together. No one could fix it, or, if they could, they would rather watch it all burn. Burn like Teldrassil and the Undercity. Burn like Silvermoon.

“Liadrin,” she breathed. As if the name would save this. As if that would make her mind focus on the task at hand. As if it would erase the terrible things she’d already thought.

“That’s it, pretty girl,” Liadrin encouraged. “Keep going.”

Liadrin’s fingers were pressing against her from the inside, driving a dull ache that ran from Valeera’s hips to her chest and back again. Her body trembled with the effort of containing it. With not giving in to it.

It would be just as easy to love as it would be to kill her, honestly. To believe her lies. To run away from everything for her. To forsake her promises to Varian. To turn her own banners as red as the clothes she wore. To accept the scorn of her people in hopes that they would call her ally once again. If only because Liadrin would be there, with her. If only so they wouldn’t have to hide. If only their meetings could be celebrated, rather than clandestine secrets.

Secrets that apparently Shaw knew of. And that was another worry.

Despite her racing mind, Valeera could feel her body take over, bucking against Liadrin at its own volition. Tightening around those wicked fingers. Shaking her taut muscles as she strained to get enough friction to set her off. Crying out for her as she came. Slumping her into Liadrin’s waiting arms when she could no longer hold herself up.

Arms that gathered the pieces of her they’d just shattered so utterly. Arms that held them in as Liadrin whispered to her. Sweet things. Always such sweet and good things.

“That was gorgeous. You always come so pretty for me. I miss it when you don’t come see me for a while, don’t you know?”

Valeera always came to her. Never the other way around. Liadrin never went looking. She knew better. She also didn’t know where to find her.

Few people did. Sometimes, she would sleep in her apartment in Stormwind. Maybe one night in ten. The other nine she couldn’t stand it. The quiet of it. The niceness of the furniture. The coldness of her empty bed. 

“Stop,” Valeera said once she could take a full breath again.

She could feel Liardin’s body tense beneath her with an unasked question. 

“Just fucking stop it,” Valeera said again.

She willed her muscles into her control again, slipping her own hand from Liadrin’s grip, then thrusting it over her mouth. 

She could smother her. She could hold her down until there was no more air in her lungs. Liadrin was a warrior, but Valeera had been a gladiator. She could fight hand to hand in the pits. She didn’t need the Light. She didn’t need daggers or swords or poison. 

But she didn’t want that. She knew she didn’t. Valeera knew what she wanted. 

“Stop saying things you don’t mean,” she pleaded. 

She kept her hand in place over Liadrin’s mouth, watching the other woman’s eyes go wide. Anyone else would fight to object. They would try to make her believe. 

And while she could see that her words had hurt Liadrin--in the way her long brows sunk, in how her ears pressed back, and the frown she felt beneath her fingers--the paladin didn’t try to move her hand. She didn’t fight to speak beneath its pressure. She accepted her defeat with grace.

Too much grace. Too much for Valeera’s taste.

So she fixed that with her other hand, sliding it between them to find Liadrin soaked. If her hands were hot, then her core was a furnace. One that Valeera should have shied away from, but instead gleefully took. 

Her arousal was so grounding, so base of her. Something that no amount of piety and righteous confidence could banish. And Valeera relished in it. Warmth and wetness that could not be denied. Something neither of them could lie about.

She was vicious in her assault, circling Liadrin’s clit roughly with the pads of her fingers. Doing so in a way she knew would have the other woman squirming beneath her in a matter of moments. But she didn’t move her hand. She kept it over her mouth, even as she felt hot breaths and a stifled moan sputter out beneath it.

“Listen to me,” Valeera pleaded as her hand worked. “Listen to me for once.”

Liadrin was arching off the bed already, carrying both of them into the air with the bend of her spine. 

“Be honest. Be honest about what this is. What we are.”

Her breaths were coming in short and hard against Valeera’s fingers. Wet too, from her open mouth. 

“I am done with lies.”

The first word she tried to mutter beneath those fingers was “please”. Please what, Valeera wasn’t sure. Let me go? Let me love you?

It hardly mattered.

“I’m not here to be your pretty girl. I am no one’s pretty girl. Never have been,” Valeera told her.

Another attempt at “please”. The hint of a fang against her fingers. Just the smooth texture of tooth against skin, not the deadly point of it.

“I’m here because you fuck me like no one else does,” Valeera told her. “And because that’s worth putting up with your bullshit sometimes. And because, yeah, sometimes I even like the bullshit. Because sometimes, I like your lies. Just not tonight.”

Liadrin’s hips were rolling of their own accord. At the third attempt at “please”, Valeera finally found that she couldn’t keep her hand still anymore. She found a guilt worse than she’d felt while thinking of ways to kill her lover. She found a guilt worse than watching cities burn, worse than hot blood running through her fingers.

And she found it in Liadrin’s golden eyes, staring up at her, afraid. Not for herself. No, never. But for Valeera. And for the tears that were falling from her eyes, onto Liadrin’s chest.

“Please,” Liadrin begged. “Please, Valeera.”

She never got further. Valeera would never know what the plea was for. Instead, Liadrin came hard, with a grunt that turned to frantic panting. With Valeera’s hand on her cheek now, soothing her as she struggled to pull in air for an entirely different reason.

They were back in the same position they’d started in. Valeera half-draped over Liadrin’s heaving chest, her legs having fallen off to the side of her. 

But this time, Valeera wrapped her arms around her. She breathed in warmth and sweat and sunshine, what a good elf should smell like, even in the dark of night.

But Valeera didn’t smell like that. She smelled like blood, metallic and bitter. She always did.

“You’re being targeted by Alliance assassins,” she told Liadrin, finally. “There was one outside your room a while ago. I killed him. Threw his body off the pyramid. His name was Bryant and he was always a shit rogue. His family is going to be so pissed he was killed by the Horde.”

Sweat-soaked and still shuddering, all Liadrin could do was ask, “What?”

“You’re welcome,” Valeera spat as she rolled off of her and went to find her armor in the darkness.


End file.
